To Honor the Fallen
by M. D. Jensen
Summary: After the events of the Darkest Hour, the Knights of the Round Table go on a memorial quest to their fallen friend's birthplace. Spoilers, of course. If you love knightly bromance and don't require complicated plots, this fic is for you!
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: not mine. Also I'd be lying if I said that this wasn't partially inspired by _Stand by Me_. What can I say? My earliest impressions of male friendship all derive from Mr. Stephen King.

After the events of the Darkest Hour, the Knights of the Round Table go on a memorial quest to their fallen friend's birthplace. Spoilers.

Note: this will be three parts. Next one should be up in a few days (and will be way more friendshipy and angsty than this one, which is just sort of establishing things).

_To Honor the Fallen_

_Part I_

Gwaine was not used to worrying. For years his main and sole concern had been himself and the fun that he could have. Even becoming a knight of Camelot hadn't added a great deal of priorities to his list. All right, there was Merlin; they'd always been friends but now living in the same place had caused the few brotherly instincts Gwaine possessed to kick in. So for the past year he'd looked out for himself, and he'd looked out for Merlin, and that had been enough responsibility for his taste.

And then that bloody idiot- clotpole, as Merlin might say- _Lancelot_ had gone and sacrificed himself for the good of the world at large, and everything had gone to shit.

Gwaine hadn't mourned since the journey back to Camelot. He'd thrown himself wholly into fighting, drinking, laughing- living- as though the Round Table were still complete. The others had done the same, for the most part. Merlin still seemed a bit traumatized by the whole ordeal, but that was Merlin for you. Everyone else was all right, mostly.

Except for when Elyan would stop dead in the middle of some routine action and sigh.

Except for how Arthur never let another man ride Lancelot's horse in training.

Except for the one morning that Leon, of all people, showed up with eyes red as coals and swollen as a baby's.

It had been a month and Gwaine could no longer deny it: everyday, constantly, he was _worried._

His best defense was humor and mirth. For the first few days it had no effect; then, gradually, the others began responding to his jokes again, however politely. Joining him in the tavern again, however tentatively. But it wasn't enough to heal the hurt Lancelot's death had caused. Not for any of them, but especially not for Merlin- and _especially_ not for _Percival._

A year ago, at the formation of the Round Table, if Gwaine had looked around the room and made a list of who needed looking out for most, Percival would have been at the rock bottom, below Elyan, below Arthur, even below Leon. Gwaine, at the time, would not have been inclined to make such a list. But if he had been, Percival might not have even made it on there. Percival would have been the table that he composed the list on top of. After all, it wasn't every day that a new acquaintance appeared who could casually manufacture a fucking _rock slide_.

But above those ridiculous muscles (really, at some point a man just became a show-off) Percival had the face of a boy, a face that grinned and pouted and somehow just begged to be worried about.

Damn it.

So now, apparently, Gwaine worried. For himself, Merlin, and Percival. Couple that with living in the same place for over a year and holding a steady job for as long, and he'd almost become a normal person. Almost.

And all this worrying had seemed like enough work in and of itself until that one afternoon that Merlin pulled him stealthily aside while the knights stopped training for lunch. Gwaine grabbed his portion of food and trailed the servant to a hill a bit apart from the others. They dropped to the grass, Gwaine's armor hissing against his chainmail and clanking against itself at the joints.

"Percival's having nightmares again."

Frowning, Gwaine broke his roll in two and passed half to Merlin. Merlin soaked it for a moment in Gwaine's stew before pulling it out and staring at it.

"How d'you know?"

"He was with Gaius when I came back from fetching Arthur's breakfast this morning. And look how slow he's been in practice today."

"Maybe he's not feeling well," Gwaine offered, annoyed by the anxiety swelling up in his gut. Seizing his spoon, he stirred the stew before beginning to eat.

"Maybe. Except I asked Gaius, and he told me it was nightmares." Merlin took a bite of his broth-drenched roll, not looking terribly excited about it.

Gwaine knew that Percival didn't sleep well. It wasn't a secret- it couldn't be, given how many nights they all spent tucked close around the fire together. And, though the man was just about the least talkative person Gwaine had ever met, with enough time spent in the tavern he'd managed to extract enough of the story to understand that his dreams had been bad enough early on for him to seek Gaius's help. As far as Gwaine knew, though, they'd gotten better over the past year.

Well- _until._

"It hasn't been easy for him since Lancelot died," Gwaine mused, voice neutral. Merlin made a little noise- not quite a cough, not quite a sigh. "Sorry," Gwaine added automatically.

"It's all right." Merlin sat up straighter. "It hasn't been easy for any of us. But I know they were friends. I thought, maybe- you could talk to him?" He shrugged one shoulder, looking tentatively hopeful.

"Me?"

"Yeah. You're friends, right? I think you're the best friend he's got here. Now that Lancelot's gone." He looked away moodily, staring up at the clouds, roll forgotten between his fingers.

"Don't know if you've noticed, Merlin, but I'm not the most qualified to lend emotional support," Gwaine grouched. But Merlin's words had placed a question in his brain. Was he really the best Percival could do? He'd never looked at their friendship as based on anything but the basics- training together, questing together, stealing food from the kitchens together, calling each other stupid nicknames, and getting so drunk that Percival finally gave into Elyan's urgings to benchpress Gwaine. Well, and now there was that added sense of worry, but that was just kind of silly and surely didn't mean that _Gwaine_ was Percival's best defense against his own grief. Did it?

Merlin's smile was small and wry. "Nevertheless," he said simply, letting the word stand as a statement in its own right. "I didn't know who else to tell, Gwaine," he added, after a long pause. "Arthur's got enough to worry about with his father, and Gaius said he tried to talk to him but Percival wouldn't have it."

"And you can't do this, why?"

Merlin glared. "I think that in the past year I've spoken maybe an hour total with that man. What do you want me to do, go up and say, _hey, I know we never talk, but I miss Lancelot too_." Merlin shook his head back and forth, mocking his own voice. "Besides," he added, sobering, "I don't even know if that's what's bothering him. Before, the dreams were always about his family. From what little he did tell Gaius, it seems like they still are."

Gwaine sucked in a deep breath and blew it out with finesse.

"All right. I'll talk to the oaf. I should get re-knighted for this, you know."

Merlin smiled. "Thanks, Gwaine."

"Hmf. If you hardly know him, why do you care?"

Merlin cocked his head to one side. "He's a knight. I mean, it would hardly do to have one of the men defending Camelot be worn down from something that could be helped." He meant _defending Arthur_, Gwaine gathered, but didn't correct him.

"You're turning me into a worrier," Gwaine sighed at last, and he knew from the look in Merlin's eyes that he understood how far from a joke that statement was.

"I know," Merlin said simply, and finally turned attention back to his soggy roll.

* * *

So worrying just to worry no longer cut it. Merlin was right; action was called for- whether Gwaine liked it or not. He had happily undergone far more rigorous challenges for Merlin than this. But a secret quest to recover the sacred trident of an ancient cursed king was beginning to seem more and more relaxing by the minute. To just _go up_ to somebody and profess that you _empathized_ and wanted to _be there_ for them? It wasn't done. And if it was, Gwaine wasn't the kind of person to do it, and Camelot wasn't the place. When would be best- before sword practice? During a feast to honor visiting nobles? On a quest to bring food to a starving village? Vulnerability like that had no place in a knight's daily life, and for good reason.

But something had to be done, Gwaine knew, as he watched Percival begin to catch naps in the grass between practice sessions, skip out on nights in the tavern. And the others- they were faring better, but not by much. This wasn't something he could fix alone, Gwaine saw. Merlin had brought his attention to it, and the real solution would take more cooperation still. Just as Lancelot had not been only Percival's friend, the grief that desperately needed airing was not his alone either. It was the problem of the Knights of the Round Table, and realizing this comforted Gwaine while making him all the more anxious simultaneously. At the very least, his next step was clear. If this involved the knights, there was only one logical person to turn to.

Which was how Gwaine found himself standing in Leon's chambers well after sundown one night, sprawled lazily in a wide wooden chair as Leon himself stood frowning down at him.

"A memorial quest," he repeated, blankly.

"You heard correctly." Gwaine smiled. Leon's frown eased and he returned to pouring two cups of dark red wine. The scent that filled the air calmed Gwaine marginally and he pulled his legs back, sitting up straighter.

"A quest has an aim." Leon lowered himself slowly into a chair across the table.

"This has an aim. The aim is that we take the time to remember Lancelot. The aim is that we all stop ignoring the issue and ignoring each other and pretending that we haven't lost a good man." For emphasis as much as for comfort, he took a swig of his drink.

Leon's brow tensed up once again. "This _is_ Gwaine I'm talking to?" Gwaine felt his face widen into a genuine grin. It wasn't so much that he was happy as that he was comfortable with Leon, in a way he'd never been comfortable with a noble in his adult life.

"I'll admit, it was Merlin who called it to my attention. But you can't tell me you haven't noticed, Leon. Morale is lower than the dungeons." He fought and failed to keep the smile on his lips. "Percy can hardly keep his eyes open during training, he sleeps so badly."

Leon glanced uneasily down at his forgotten wine, and tossed it back in one go. "Percival has other things on his mind," he noted, bringing the cup back down to the table. "You know that."

"It's all the more reason that we need to do something like this," Gwaine insisted.

Leon sighed, spinning the cup in his hands. "I'm not saying I reject the idea. But knights _die_, my friend." He looked back up with heavy eyes. "I myself might have died ten times over by now. And other knights need to accept this."

"You're forgetting that you're the only career knight among us," Gwaine teased gently. It coaxed a smile out of Leon, however small. "Lancelot laid down his life for us. For everyone. And he wasn't just a knight. He sat with us at the Round Table. That's got to mean something." The smile had disappeared.

"I saw you," Gwaine said softly, changing direction on a whim. "That day a few weeks ago. Big bad Sir Leon. You came to training looking as though you'd cried all night."

Leon sighed. Gwaine finished his wine quietly while the man mulled it over, lost in his own thoughts. Finally he nodded. "You're right. You are. What would be our destination?"

The answer surprised Gwaine as it tumbled out from his mouth. Truth be told, he hadn't thought that far ahead. But in the moment, the solution seemed obvious. "Lancelot's village. Called Benwick. It was destroyed twenty years ago by raiders from the northern plains. But I've seen it on the maps. I don't know if others have settled there or if it's just the ruins. I thought we could go there to honor him, maybe bring something of his with us to leave there."

"His sword," Leon replied seamlessly, light beginning to show in his eyes. "The sword he fought with in Camelot, the one we burned in his memorial, wasn't his own. It was made for him here. The one he had with him when he first arrived, that's still in his chambers."

"So you're behind this?" Gwaine demanded, catching Leon's gaze and holding it steadily.

"I am. Of course."

"And you'll convince Arthur to let us?"

Leon looked away, an odd expression on his face. "I know he's not your favorite man, Gwaine, but he's a good one. He won't take _convincing._ Nevertheless," he promised, looking back, "I'll present the idea to him myself if you prefer."

"I do." Setting his cup down, Gwaine extended an arm which Leon clasped unwaveringly. The determination in his eyes mirrored what Gwaine himself felt inside. For the first time since Lancelot died, his enthusiasm for something was natural, unforced; for the first time since Lancelot died, he had hope.

* * *

"I don't understand."

_Clank._

"What's not to understand?"

_Clank, clank._

"The purpose of this?" Percival sneered sharply, his commanding voice all the rougher with physical exertion. The training dummy was still standing only by the grace of some higher power Gwaine couldn't name.

"If you break this one, it'll be the fifth this year," Gwaine reminded evenly. "Bet that's a record." The clanking of sword on armor ceased.

"Don't suppose you'd go away if I asked nicely," Percival grunted, stabbing his sword into the grass.

"Don't suppose."

"Whose idea was this?"

"Mine." Gwaine yelped with mock injury at Percival's responding smirk. "Why does everybody find that so difficult to believe?"

"Do I really have to answer that?"

"Fuck!" Gwaine took a half-hearted kick at the training dummy's stand and earned a sore toe for his efforts. "Are you in or not?" That right there was why he'd devised the whole idea in the first place; empathy really wasn't a strength he could claim.

"A quest has a purpose," Percival grouched, crossing his massive arms in front of his equally massive chest. But in the past year Gwaine had grown fairly skilled at glimpsing the child that lurked inside the warrior body- and that child was terrified now.

Sudden sorrow washed over Gwaine in a way that he hadn't been prepared for. He wrapped his own arms protectively around his middle, then forced himself to drop them as a sign of good will. "Saying goodbye is as good a purpose as any," he muttered. "Are you coming, _Percival_?"

The man frowned for another moment or two, regarding Gwaine in that special manner that seemed to be designed entirely to remind others of their respectively unimpressive size. "If you ask it of me," he said finally. Gwaine nodded. For now, that was going to have to be enough.

* * *

"A memorial quest?" Arthur repeated, dryly. Gwaine fought the urge to sigh. He knew the questions that might come next; his fellow knights had prepared him well enough. But he bit his tongue and kept silent, glancing around the hall in which Arthur entertained such meetings. Beside him, Percival was staring expressionlessly as Leon presented their case. Elyan, who had been by far the easiest to convince, caught Gwaine's eye and nodded encouragingly.

"Yes, sire," Leon agreed, inclining his head slightly. He stood apart from the others, addressing the prince confidently. "We understand it to be a bit out of the ordinary, but we thought-"

"No, that's all right, Sir Leon." Arthur stopped the knight's words with a calmly raised hand. "I understand. Believe me."

"It will take three days, at the longest," Leon added, unbidden.

"I understand, Leon," Arthur said again, his voice a bit softer this time. Gwaine watched, fascinated, as something that could only be called _compassion_ spread slowly and subtly across his face. "The five of you had been as brothers. Of course I will allow the quest. I only wish I could accompany you."

"Thank you, sire." Leon smiled and inclined his head again. "With your permission, then, we will depart at dawn tomorrow."

"Where are you going?" The question was not directed from a prince regent to his most trusted knight, but from a friend to a friend. Leon answered in kind.

"Benwick, Lancelot's village. It lies near the border of Caerleon's lands, but well within the boundaries of Camelot." Leon's face was straight and somber. "It was destroyed by raiders from the northern plains when Lancelot was a boy. We mean to return his old sword there so that he may be at rest with his family."

Arthur paused before nodding with a kind of mournful satisfaction. "I think that ranks among the noblest of quests you've ever attended, Sir Leon."

Gwaine knew the meeting was over when Arthur pulled Leon aside and began to speak with him in low, private tones. Elyan flashed a smile before trailing Percival from the chamber. Gwaine was about to follow when a familiar dark head swooped into his line of vision.

"You might've told me you'd had an idea this good. I'll need to record it somewhere for posterity," Merlin laughed.

"It's hardly a remarkable occurrence."

"So says you." Merlin leaned casually against the wall. Almost proud of himself, Gwaine slumped beside him. "Seriously, though," Merlin went on. "This is above and beyond what I had in mind. It's- romantic. In its way." He smirked. "Lancelot would have liked that. And I do think it's for the best."

"Tell that to Percy. He was less than excited."

"It's not the easiest thing in the world to admit that you're grieving," Merlin mused quietly. "But he'll appreciate this in the end. You all will."

"You're coming, right?" Somehow in the back of his mind, Gwaine hadn't even thought to question this. Now the implication of Merlin's words was alarming somehow.

"Nah." Merlin shook his head. "Do you _remember_ when I was sick last summer? Arthur had to dress himself for days. Never. Again. Came back to find every pair of trousers he owns laced completely backwards." He smiled conspiratorially, as though willing Gwaine to agree. But all Gwaine could do was frown.

"You're the one who told me to do this," he insisted, his voice dropping low. "Merlin, Arthur can tend to himself for a few days. You've got to say goodbye as well."

"I will. I have. I mean it," Merlin promised, smiling goodheartedly at his own stumbling words. "You don't have to worry about me, Gwaine."

"Of course not. I don't _have_ to worry about any of this. I could skip out of Camelot right now if I wanted to." Gwaine huffed at Merlin's vaguely amused and utterly unconvinced expression. "Well, if you're not gonna come, are you still gonna help me get enough food from the kitchens?"

Merlin stole a glance at Arthur, still deep in conversation with Leon. "Let's go now before he finds another chore for me. He's been on a kick this week, dunno why."

In that moment, Gwaine chose not to think about the task he'd laid out for himself, or the fact that he'd be undertaking it without the aid of his closest friend. He chose not to think about the stakes he'd placed on this journey and that he'd made others place on it as well. Instead he made a ridiculously overacted show of checking the area for spies before ushering Merlin from the room. There would be enough time for reflection come morning.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: not mine, although Percival's backstory is my own creation. Because, let's face it, besides his name there's really not a whole lot to make us think that our Percival is the Percival of the legends.

After the events of the Darkest Hour, the knights of the round table go on a memorial quest to their fallen friend's birthplace. Spoilers.

Note: recall if you will that Gwen and Elyan's mother was a servant to Leon's mother and thus they all knew each other as children. It's not terribly important but you may not understand one small part of this chapter without this info.

Twenty-two years old and I am not above saying: reviews are one of the greatest gifts you can give :)

_To Honor the Fallen_

_Part II_

Things weren't looking good. First, all the incessant worrying, and now Gwaine was staring into his wardrobe, utterly unsure of what to wear. Okay, trousers, shirt, yes- that wasn't the controversy. The question on his mind was whether or not to don his chainmail. This was, as condoned by Arthur, an official quest as a knight of Camelot. But... it also kind of wasn't. And it was a bit insulting to pretend that it was, right? Gwaine kicked his wardrobe, but it remained unhelpful. Finally he pulled the chainmail out and worked his arms and head into their respective holes, then fastened his cloak over top. He'd be warm, at the very least; early winter this year had been mild, but that could change at a moment's notice. Besides, over the past year foregoing chainmail had begun to make him feel... vulnerable, somehow. And Gwaine didn't need any more of that right now.

The others had dressed similarly when they convened at the stables. Good. A correct choice, for once in his life. He was greeting them all just as Merlin arrived with a bowl of apples and pears. They ate in silence as they loaded their horses with their bags, the sun rising pink in the distance. Meanwhile Gwaine tried to gauge the general mood. Percival seemed grim, but that was to be expected. Elyan was unexpectedly calm. Leon bore the same face that he did when departing for any quest.

Gwaine shoved the extra fruit in his bag when he was fairly sure that everyone was done. Then, nodding to Merlin, he swung up onto his horse and followed the others out of the citadel gates.

The route had not been hard to map. Leon and Elyan led the way, and soon Percival's horse fell in step with Gwaine's a few paces behind theirs.

"All right?" He called casually. His answer was a grunt, and the others were hardly more talkative. Gwaine respected this, though it wouldn't have been his first choice. If the others needed time to collect their thoughts, so be it. But he, on the other hand, would have preferred at least a bit of light chatter. Instead he took to humming tunelessly, listening to the hooves of his horse crunch the fallen autumn leaves underfoot. Silence persisted until they stopped for lunch.

Elyan was the first to break it with anything more than meaningless commentary on directions and the welfare of the horses.

"I told Gwen where we were going," he said suddenly, toying with the piece of cold chicken in his hands. "She gave her blessing. The two of them had a little thing, I think. Before she and Arthur."

"_Before_, for her, maybe," Gwaine argued. "I don't think he ever gave up on her, not really. Of course, she's not the kind of girl you give up on, is she? I've certainly never stopped thinking about her."

"Oy!" Elyan yelped, and suddenly the tension shattered. "That's my sister you're talking about. I don't need to hear these things!"

"Don't you wanna know how lucky a woman she is?" Gwaine winked. "Lancelot wasn't the only knight she's ever been courted by."

Elyan stared back at Gwaine, righteous fire in his eyes. "You do mean Arthur, don't you?"

"Oh right. Him too."

Leon burst out laughing at the anger wrought across his friend's face. "She's not an easy girl to ignore, Elyan. Good thing you're handy with a sword. Not that I think she needs protecting."

"Oh god," Elyan moaned loudly. "Not you too, Leon. Anyone else want to admit to having feelings for my sister? Percy? I think you're the only one left."

"I don't have _feelings_ for her," Leon insisted. "Not like that. Not saying she's not pretty, mate, but she was always so much younger. Five or six years. She was hardly ten when I left for the Citadel. But I cared for her. I still care for her," he amended with a small smile. "She always tagged along after me and my friends like a little sister. But God, she fussed over me as well."

"That's right! Your lily mother, eh, Leon?" Elyan grinned as he seemed to deal a worthy blow.

Leon, time-tested, battle-worn knight of Camelot, blushed as red as his cloak.

"What was that?" Gwaine demanded, delighted at this obviously embarrassing piece of information. It wasn't often that he mined Elyan for childhood stories of Leon; teasing each other was one thing, but there was no need to emphasize his background as a servant's son. But when information was volunteered, well- that was another matter.

Elyan, for his part, was grinning at this particular memory. "Go on, Leon, tell them," he coaxed. Leon sighed.

"Well, you know Gwen. She fusses over everyone. But I was one of her first, I think." The high color of embarrassment faded gradually to the gentle blush of a silly, pleasant thought. "She'd follow me everywhere- only six or seven years old, she was- reminding me to eat enough, bandaging me when I injured myself. She was like my little mother."

Elyan was breathing hard with the effort of not bursting into laughter. "But brave Sir Leon here couldn't get his _t_'s right until he was old enough to grow a beard! So he called her his-"

"Lily mother," Leon finished quietly. "It was easier to say."

"That is one of the most precious things I have ever heard, gents," Gwaine roared, reaching over to slap Leon on the back. "Might shed a tear." On Gwaine's other side, Percival was chortling appreciatively, the first extraneous noise he'd made all day. The mood had lightened considerably, and Gwaine couldn't help but think that this was the first time since Lancelot's death that they weren't all handling each other like possibly poisonous spiders when left to their own devices. Things felt normal again- well, apart from the one voice noticeably absent from the dialogue.

"Is it odd, sometimes?" Elyan wondered absently. "That the son of your mother's servant ended up a knight along side you? And her daughter ended up favored by the prince?"

"It was at first, a bit," Leon replied thoughtfully. The chicken was gone by now, and Gwaine retrieved the breakfast fruit from his bag and began to chuck pieces at his friends with little caution. "But I've gotten over it," he promised with a laugh. "You and Percival are some of the finest knights I've ever stood beside; Lancelot as well. Your bloodlines mean nothing in this light."

"Oh hell!" Elyan laughed. "Me and Percy and Lancelot? How about that, Gwaine?"

Leon's face fell. "Gwaine as well. Of course," he added hastily, looking over at Gwaine for confirmation. But Gwaine was frozen, heart suddenly pounding, fingers sinking into the softened flesh of a bruised pear.

"You know," he said quietly.

"What?" Leon was blushing again, this time looking genuinely embarrassed.

"He knows what?" Elyan demanded, confused.

"How long?"

"A while," Leon admitted, finally giving up his attempts at denial.

"Gwaine?" That was Percival.

"It's okay," Gwaine said quietly. "If I can't tell you lot, who can I tell? It's instinct, you know. It's just habit by now, _pretending_."

"What the hell are you two talking about?" Elyan yelped, and Gwaine unfroze then, tossing the pear to Leon.

"Go on," he prodded.

Leon swallowed, shifted, seeming unsure if the permission was genuine. "You're a nobleman," he said at last.

"Yeah. Newly minted," Elyan joked.

"No." He shook his head. "Gwaine's of noble blood."

All eyes were turned on Gwaine now. That familiar instinct to bolt was mounting but he bit it back with a sigh.

"How'd you work it out?"

"No one's terribly fond of nobles." Leon's expression was thoughtful. "But you- you really hate them. You hate nobles in only the way someone of noble blood could."

Elyan's eyebrows were inching ever closer to his hairline. Percival's face was perfectly still.

"Well spotted," Gwaine huffed, trying to grin. "Not that it ever got me very far, take my word on it."

"What happened?" Leon didn't look pleased to be right, exactly- just very politely curious.

Gwaine shrugged. "My father was a knight. Died fighting for Caerleon when I was young. In those days my mother wasn't good for anything but being a knight's wife. My sister wasn't good for anything but being a knight's daughter. I was too young to get any jobs that paid anything much. Once we'd sold everything we could, we were left with nothing. Caerleon was no help." He knew he was scowling, and hardly cared. He sighed, holding the air deep in his lungs before expelling it in a gush. "Noble blood's not worth a whole hell of a lot on its own. Not like you can go to the market and bleed for your food." He paused. "How long have you known?"

"Since about a week after you were knighted." Leon shrugged. "I assumed if you didn't mention it, you didn't want it known."

"Why not?" Percival wondered softly.

"Dunno." Gwaine shuffled backwards on all fours a few feet until he was leaning up against a tree. "Like the man said, they're not my favorite sort. Besides. Things are expected of nobles. If people don't know, they can still be impressed when I do things like bathe and show up on time and spend an entire week sober." He forced a smile. It didn't catch. Percival and Elyan were still staring, and Leon was still looking as scandalized with himself as a man could be. Anger tried to flare up inside of Gwaine, but he held it in check. "Everyone, please," he said, in a calm, clear voice. "Just eat your fucking fruit."

Everyone did; Leon bit quietly into his pear and the rest of them crunched noisily into their apples.

Gwaine was halfway to the core of his when Elyan finally spoke. "I'm sorry, Gwaine. I'm still confused."

"_What_?" There was more snap to his voice than he intended.

"Sorry, just..." Above his fruit, Elyan's dark eyes were glinting. "When was the last time you actually spent an entire week sober? I've been wracking my brains."

Tension drained out of Gwaine's muscles like water from a spilled bucket. He hadn't ever stopped to think- couldn't afford to, maybe- about how nice it would have been for his friends to know the actual story of his childhood. Now they did, and they hardly cared.

Ridiculous, maybe, but he couldn't help but send a silent thanks to Lancelot. He'd always been the one to foster friendship among them all. Now that legacy continued even after his death, through this quest.

Sleepy, full of chicken and apple, Gwaine was leaning back against his tree just as Leon pushed to his feet with a groan. "We really should keep moving," he announced, beginning to gather his things.

Gwaine moaned in protest. "I've literally just found the most comfortable tree in the Five Kingdoms."

Leon's smile was easy and lopsided, more relaxed than it had ever been outside the confines of the Rising Sun. "You're going to offend your horse," he warned.

Gwaine grumbled as he tossed his apple core into the trees, grumbled as he returned his plate to his bag, and grumbled as Elyan pulled him to his feet. In reality, though, he had no complaints. The joviality between them continued, making the second leg of the journey far more enjoyable than the first. Well, in all ways but one: Percival's participation in the fun had been short lived. He brooded as much now as he'd brooded all morning.

Lead by example, Gwaine decided, and made a show of being as gleeful as he could be. He veered Leon's horse off the trail with an apple stuck to a long, stiff twig and coaxed more childhood stories from Elyan, though none proved quite as amusing as had lunchtime's.

The winter solstice was scant weeks away, though, and darkness fell early. Leon's face was sour as he consulted his map.

"We're still a good three hours away," he grouched, glaring at Gwaine like it was all his fault- which of course it was, at least in part.

"We haven't got a timetable," Gwaine shot back irritably. He hoped fiercely that Leon wasn't suggesting they continue on into the dusk. A chill had fallen and even in his chainmail Gwaine was eager for a fire.

"No. I suppose not," Leon admitted, though he still didn't seem very happy about it. "If we make camp now and rise at dawn, we should be to the village well before midday.

"_Yes please_," Gwaine groaned. "I hath offended my horse and he hath re-offended me in turn." And it was true: there were few things worse than a full day's bumpy ride.

Setting up camp together was a still they'd honed over many months of practice, and hardly took long anymore. Soon the fire was crackling and Gwaine stretched lazily beside it.

Elyan plopped beside him, pulling dried venison from his pack and passing it around wordlessly. Gwaine took a liberal portion and began to eat it still reclining, earning himself a few coughing fits in the process. Halfway through he finally gave in and sat up. Leon and Elyan ate theirs with slightly better manners but no less enthusiasm. Only Percival abstained.

His silence could hardly have gone unnoticed by the others. Certainly it had been nagging at the back of Gwaine's mind all day. He was inordinately relieved, however, when Elyan took it upon himself to bring the issue to light.

He was, unfortunately, only about as sensitive as Gwaine would have been. Possibly even less. "Oy, are you ever going to stop sulking?" he grouched.

Percival was on his feet in a flash. "I suppose I'm just not as _moved_ by this damn quest as the lot of you," he sneered, raising his eyebrows sarcastically. Before anyone could say a word he had stomped away from the fire, soon no more than a silhouette between the trees, outlined in the barest touch of light.

Elyan blinked after him, shocked and alarmed. He rose to follow but Gwaine stopped him with one hand held aloft. "No. I'll go."

Percival was still within view of the fire, but only just- and he was well outside its circle of warmth. He'd come to a hill that was just outside the clearing, still only sparsely treed. He sat just beneath the crest of the hill with his legs drawn up to his chest, hands on his ankles. As Gwaine approached, he pulled his cloak close around him, protecting his bare arms from the early winter air.

"Pride is a deadly sin," Gwaine advised, shaking his head mockingly. "I know you like showing off your muscles for the world to see, but one of these days you'll freeze to death."

Percival scowled, still staring at the ground. "It isn't to _show off_," he answered tightly.

"No? What the hell is it, then?"

Percival's sigh suggested terribly unflattering things about Gwaine's intelligence, or lack thereof. "Sleeves were too snug to move properly."

"My friend, you are a _knight_ of _Camelot,_" Gwaine chuckled, over-enunciating his words. "I'm sure the royal smith could come up with something for you. And the tailor, while we're at it. Or are you just used to it by now?" The teasing question hung unanswered in the air.

Gwaine settled down on the hard earth beside his friend, stretching his legs down the slope of the hill."You didn't eat," he remarked blandly, deciding not to comment on the actual moment that had brought them both there.

"My stomach's just a bit upset," Percival replied coolly.

"Oh. Keep your distance, then."

His answer was a noncommittal grunt.

Silence fell between them, winter night broken only by the foreign voices of unseen birds. When Gwaine finally worked up the nerve to glance sideways, he was briefly surprised at the tears streaming down Percival's face. Apparently, he cried as he did everything else- quietly- with no sniffing or sobbing or sad little exclamations of emotion. Personally, Gwaine liked to wail and carry on a bit; it was cathartic, wasn't it? But Percival just stared straight ahead, blinking slowly as tears ran one after the other down his cheeks, some dripping off his jaw, some sliding down his neck.

So much for not being moved by the quest.

It was awkward, inarguably, but Gwaine recognized that terrible bind when you couldn't bring yourself to ask for company but couldn't bring yourself to let go until you had some. It wasn't his style, but he'd seen it enough in others to recognize it. So he was fairly sure he'd committed himself to staying through to the end. And, though it came slowly, it came nevertheless, and eventually Percival wiped his face and sighed.

"I'll hug you," Gwaine muttered conspiratorially. "But you can never tell the others."

"'m all right. Thanks."

"You were his friend before any of us, Percy. Nobody expects you to carry on like nothing happened."

Percival swallowed hard, and Gwaine decided to stop before he provoked another round of tears from his friend. "It's late," he murmured instead. "You need sleep. Come back to the fire and we'll make Elyan take the first watch."

Percival gave a small, weak smile. "He hates taking first watch."

"I hate taking any watch, and yet you all manage to convince me to, every time."

Percival stared for a long moment. Gwaine hoped beyond hope that he was getting ready to cast one of his terrible jokes, but had no suck luck. "I shouldn't have come, Gwaine," he said finally.

"Yes you should."

"I can't _say goodbye_. I've never been able to."

"Stick with me," Gwaine promised dryly. "It's all I do."

Percival just blinked, face working oddly as he kept himself from crying again. Gwaine's legs were beginning to twinge with cold and lack of movement; he kicked them idly against the dirt, sensing that he and his friend weren't about the relocate just yet, despite best efforts.

Finally, Percival sighed and said, "Lancelot was twelve."

"Then his beard was all the more impressive."

Percival glared. "He was twelve when his village was attacked. Everyone dead- everyone. Twelve years old, he was completely on his own. I was eighteen and had a score of neighbors with me. I still lost months to a complete... darkness in my mind."

"I suppose Lancelot couldn't afford to," Gwaine said slowly. The cold was creeping in on them now, seeping into his boots and between his toes.

"Mm," Percival hummed.

Then he took a deep breath, blew it out, took another, and without pause answered every question that Gwaine had always hesitated to ask.

"I was one of four siblings. The twins- Henry and Gabrielle- were like me." He gestured vaguely and shrugged before elaborating: "Big. Fair-haired. Quiet. But Frederick was small. Dark. He could talk for hours. Frederick was everyone's favorite. We all looked out for him."

Gwaine was staring; he couldn't help it. He'd gotten a vague summary of his friend's backstory from Lancelot, but Percival had never before mentioned his family that Gwaine could recall. Now he'd given names and broad descriptions of three siblings in only the time it had taken to draw two breaths. His eyes were still trained on the man's face when he continued.

"When Cedred's men came, the twins and our parents held them off. Gave me time to get him to safety." Percival's youthful face was stonier than Gwaine had ever seen it. "I failed."

"What happened?" Gwaine asked finally.

Percival drew in a deep breath and sat up taller. "He was shot at a distance as we were escaping. I thought we could still make it to the mountains with the other refugees. I thought we could go there to tend to him. He didn't make it. We were at the base of the mountain when I felt him go boneless against my back. I knew he'd died before I even saw his face. I buried him there. I didn't let anyone help me.

"After Frederick died, there were about twenty of us left from the village. A man and a woman, Jonas and Meredith, were among us. They had no children of their own. When we were growing up, they would sometimes look after us. After the attack, they took me in again. We stayed in the mountains for weeks. I barely remember anything from that time; I slept all day. Meredith would wake me up to eat and sometimes wash, and that was all. I was more dead than I was alive. I didn't even cry.

"Finally we began depleting the fruit trees and game around us. We went out separate ways. Meredith and Jonas were going to live with Jonas's sister. They still couldn't leave me on my own. I hardly ever left Meredith's side. So I went with them. It was a foresting village, like my own had been. I worked for my keep. Gradually my mind cleared. I've never stopped mourning, you know. But I came back to myself.

"We stayed a year with Jonas's sister before I decided I wanted to leave. It was too difficult, being in a village that looked so much like mine had, but with all the wrong faces. They didn't want me to go, but they understood. So I set out on my own.

"It wasn't hard to find work, but I never stayed long enough to get to know anyone. I was all right with that. Until I met Lancelot. He told me that he didn't have anyone either, but he'd decided to learn to fight, and protect others from the same fate that befell his family. It seemed like a better thing to do than drift as I had been. So he told me I could come with him.

"He didn't speak of his family much. Just vaguely. Some nights were bad, and he would just sort of stare. I recognized the darkness in him. But he always came back quickly. He told me of his travels to Camelot, and how he'd failed as a knight- in his mind. But then, as he'd tell me, he saw Guinevere again, just by chance. And slowly he came to believe again that there was goodness in the world worth fighting for.

"When word arrived from Merlin that Lancelot was needed in Camelot, it was only natural I should accompany him. We both knew by then that I would follow him anywhere. And if it was Cedred's men we fought, so much the better. It's strange, though- I never thought it would be the place we'd finally stop."

And that said it all. Percival fell silent, gazing calmly forward, while Gwaine fought dual urges to throw his arms around his friend, or run away. Gradually, Percival turned and smiled. "Don't think I've ever seen you speechless before, Gwaine."

"Supposed we've switched roles," Gwaine choked out.

"Mm. Yes, I'm not sure I've ever said so many words back-to-back," Percival mused. He looked tired, and still a bit ill, but better than he had when Gwaine had found him. Gwaine himself, on the other hand, felt downright shaken. He was shivering, hard, and only partially from the cold. He wanted to say- what? _Sorry_? _Thanks_? Nothing he could think of seemed remotely well-placed or even useful.

"Should we go back to the others?"

Gwaine nodded, pushing himself unsteadily to his feet, swaying as the blood rushed out of his head and back into his toes. Percival, suddenly standing himself, caught him by the arm. "Gwaine?"

"What?" Gwaine snapped, twisting his wrist around inside Percival's giant grip. His friend's hand was hot as though with fever.

"It's all right. Really," Percival said calmly, the gentility of his words belying the tragedy he'd just revealed.

"Really," Gwaine repeated dumbly. Then he stumbled back down the hill to camp, curled himself up on a patch of ground as close to the fire as could be, and was asleep before Elyan could even begin to protest.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: not mine. However, Lancelot's backstory, as well as Percival's, was fleshed out a bit for the purposes of this fic.

After the events of the Darkest Hour, the knights of the round table go on a memorial quest to their fallen friend's birthplace. Spoilers.

Note: there are indeed species of roses that bloom in winter, but I found it unlikely that any of our knights would know enough about them to comment :)

_To Honor the Fallen_

_Part III_

Gwaine woke slowly but with the foggy understanding that it was still before dawn and that he ought to close his eyes and go back to sleep again. He found it sadly impossible to do so. He sat, scooting himself back from the fire that now felt a bit hot. He'd gone too close for a man wearing chainmail. Well, it wasn't the first time he'd done so.

Percival sat cross-legged on the other side of the fire, his sword drawn and laid across his lap. He'd taken over for Elyan, Gwaine saw. The real question, of course, was had he managed any sleep at all before doing so?

"Hey," Gwaine said quietly, rubbing grit from his eyes.

"Hello."

"What time is it?"

"You've got two hours yet before dawn. At least," Percival replied, his deep voice grinding low beneath the crackle of the lively fire. "Lay down and go back to sleep."

There was something so old in the sound of his voice, and so sad, that Gwaine couldn't help but obey.

When he opened his eyes again, the sun was rising and Leon and Elyan were on their feet. "Give us a hand with the fire, will you?" Elyan grouched. Leon was setting out pieces of bread for breakfast. Across the clearing, Percival was tending to the horses.

Dutifully Gwaine knelt, scooping handfuls of dirt over the dying flames as Elyan smothered the embers idly with the underside of his boot.

Frost hung heavily in the air, and Gwaine watched the fire go out with childish disappointment. The weather coupled with the early start meant that tempers were worse than they'd been the evening before. At least Percival fussed only as much as the others did. Gwaine would take them all in slightly bad moods long before he would take three of them happy while the fourth was miserable.

The sun climbed higher as they rode, breaking through the trees and warming the air. Gwaine closed his eyes in pleasure as he felt the first rays hitting his face. Soon after it had fully risen, the trees faded into hilly plains. Leon pulled his horse to a stop and the others copied his movements. "We're drawing close," he called back. "Keep up." They hardly needed to be told to keep time, Gwaine thought. It had been a warning to prepare themselves for whatever lay ahead- and personally Gwaine couldn't say that he minded.

Nobody spoke as the horses took them steadily along the faint path through the hills. Signs of habitation appeared gradually, until finally the hills gave way to fields of grain and beans. After that it wasn't long before a cluster of houses came into view.

"They rebuilt it," Elyan mused aloud.

"Or others build over it," Leon corrected. "It isn't uncommon." He led them through the fields, up to the entrance to the village. A few dozen pale-haired men and women bustled about; they paused at the arrival of the visitors. Children playing at the edge of the square looked up, alarmed.

Leon dismounted with an easy smile. "I am Sir Leon of Camelot," he announced evenly. "Our apologies for the interruption of habit. Have we reached the village of Benwick?"

"In a way," an older man replied, stepping forward. His shoulder-length hair had faded almost entirely to white, though some blond remained at the tips. "What's your business here?"

Leon held his hands appeasingly aloft. "We seek to honor a fallen fellow knight. He hailed from Benwick, before it was raided. We were told we could find the village here."

The man snorted loudly. "A knight? From Benwick? No nobles 'round these parts, I can tell you, _my liege_."

Leon's face softened perceptibly. "He was a peasant knight. And a great man. He died saving our lives and we wish to honor him by returning his sword to the place of his birth."

"It's true," Elyan added, dismounting behind Leon. "I am a peasant knight as well, the son of a blacksmith. We're sorry for the disruption, but please tell us. Is this Benwick?"

The man studied them for a long while; Gwaine and Percival slid off their horses as well and stood patiently, awaiting the judgment of this wrinkled villager. At long last, he nodded. "This place was once called Benwick. Raiders destroyed nearly everything. If your friend was from here, he was lucky to have escaped. Our village was even worse," he added sorrowfully, gesturing to the people around him. "We were forced to flee. When we came across a place with some buildings still left standing, well. We rebuilt it. Settled here."

Leon bowed his head in thanks. "We are truly sorrow for the troubles of your people. Please," he added, returning to his horse. "Take these." He produced two midsize sacks of what Gwaine guessed to be more apples and placed them respectfully at the feet of the villager, who eyed them steadily.

"You're not like any knights of Camelot I've ever met," he huffed. "On a quest to honor your fallen friend, you say?" He prodded one of the sacks with a booted toe, then smiled. "I'm Thomas," he said at last. "If you're looking for Benwick, the only bits we didn't take over are back there." He pointed to the west of the village proper. "There's a field there with a few little kilns left. And a well. Travelers have come through to leave memorial tokens there. You're welcome to do the same."

"Thank you, Thomas." Leon's voice was sincere.

"Thank _you_," Thomas replied, tapping his foot once more against the apples. "Not far off that way, just look for the roses. They're why we left that field be. It's a nice place to leave memorials, you know. Feel free to use the roses if you like."

Leon frowned. "Use the roses?"

"Oh yes. There's a bit of a ritual to it as well, if you like. Oh, oh, no magic, no sir," Thomas sputtered, catching the scorn on Leon's face. He was afraid he'd grown too bold, Gwaine could see. "Nothing like that. Not sure where it came from but it's been 'round these parts for as long as anyone can remember. Honor the dead, if you like. Mourning with roses, we call it."

"Lancelot told me about that." Percival's voice was gentle, surprised. "He performed it once himself." Shifting under the gazes that everyone abruptly turned on him, he smiled weakly. "I don't remember it well."

"It isn't much. We don't have much to offer the dead- we don't have enough as it is for the living!" He shook his head sadly. "But winter roses have sprung up around the field. Beautiful things. Travelers pick a red one and a white one, 'n' make a circle in the dirt. You say the name it is you'd like to honor in death and lay the red one down, then you say the name it is you'd like to honor in life and lay the white one down. Then you burn 'em. Not magic, not magic. It's like a prayer."

Leon seemed to sense the man's discomfort as well, and he nodded his polite thanks once again. "We don't disrupt you any longer, Thomas. Thank you for the directions."

"My pleasure, sire," Thomas agreed, relieved at the knights' retreat. Gwaine and the others followed Leon's lead as he took his horse by the reigns and made his way down the path.

* * *

The field was small, not much use for farming. Roses sprung up in rows on two sides, and a forest loomed at the other end. Relics of the old Benwick dotted the land. "We should try it," Elyan said quietly, once they'd secured their horses.

"The rose thing?" Gwaine guessed.

"Yes. Why not? If it was something Lancelot grew up knowing about-" Elyan shrugged. "It seems to make sense."

Percival's face broke out in the first genuine smile he'd given in days. "I'll collect the roses."

The fire was growing well when Percival returned, an entire bouquet of flowers held firmly in one hand, their stems wrapped in a handkerchief to protect against thorns.

"Someone got a bit excited," Elyan teased, climbing to his feet as Percival came to a stop.

"Right. Well, I thought maybe we could... honor... other people too," he answered slowly, drawing the flowers protectively up to his chest. "Lancelot told me about it- just in passing, but he said you honor others you've lost as well. In the hopes they're all together, I suppose." Gwaine counted five red roses and five white.

"I think that's a brilliant idea," Leon replied, patient with Percival in a way typically reserved for children.

"You do?" Percival, in turn, smiled like a young boy receiving praise.

"Of course." Leon pushed to his feet. "It's past midday. Shall we get on with it?"

Gwaine, Percival, and Elyan watched in silence as Leon selected a grassless patch of dirt and kicked the soil until it was even. Gently he drew his sword and traced a circle the size of a small shield inside. He wiped it clean on his trousers before holstering it again and stepping back.

They formed a ring around the circle, careful not to rub it away. Gwaine stood between Percival and Leon, facing Elyan. Percival passed a red and a white rose to each of them, pausing when he reached Leon. "Would you honor Lancelot for us?" He asked solemnly. "I feel that maybe I should, but... words are no friends of mine."

Leon's eyes widened briefly before he nodded. "It would be my honor." Something passed between them that Gwaine recognized without fully understanding, and in one motion they both moved their flowers to their left hands and clenched their empty right hands together. Percival gave Leon the extra two flowers before taking his place in the ring between Elyan and Gwaine.

Leon drew a deep breath before stepping forward and kneeling. He spoke in a voice that was loud, calm, and sad. "We are here to honor Sir Lancelot, a knight of Camelot and of the round table. And... a brother, to all of us. Five weeks hence he sacrificed himself to end a reign of horror the likes of which I had never seen before, and hope never to see again."

Leon looked as close to tears as Gwaine felt, but none fell from any man's eyes. Elyan rested a hand calmly on Percival's shoulder, both of their faces perfectly impassive.

"Lancelot was a great man, and a brave and loyal knight. He was-" Leon paused abruptly, his voice thick. "He was the noblest man I've ever met. Before him, this might have surprised me, given his bloodline. But Lancelot taught me otherwise. His first act in Camelot was to forge noble papers for himself so that he might become a knight. We were outraged. But his second was to kill a griffin plaguing the citadel." Leon laughed wetly. "He insisted he had still dishonored himself, and left. He killed a griffin, and thought it wasn't enough to make him a true knight!" Schooling his face again, Leon sobered. "If there was ever a true knight, it was Sir Lancelot. His return to Camelot was indeed a miraculous thing.

"We four have traveled here, to the village of his birth, to give our thanks to him and to say our goodbyes to him. Thank you, Sir Lancelot. May your spirit rest in peace with those of your family." Gently he lay a red rose down in the middle of the dirt circle.

Leon paused a long moment, enough time for Elyan to sigh deeply and retract his hand, and for Percival to cross his arms protectively against his chest.

Then Leon cleared his throat and continued. "We also honor the lives that Lancelot saved," he continued, his voice a bit softer now. "They are countless. By repairing the veil between the worlds and stopping the Dorocha, Lancelot did more good with his death than a dozen men might do with all their lives combined." He leaned forward, adding the white rose to the red. Then he stood, drawing back to his place in the ring.

Silently they stared at the circle of dirt. Gwaine fingered the roses in his hand, heedless of the thorns that pierced through his calloused skin. Normally he might have used these moments of pain to distract himself from the real grief at hand- but not today. Today he wasn't going to run.

Nobody seemed willing to go first with their personal portion. Finally Leon laughed. "I'll go again, then, shall I?" For the second time, he knelt beside the circle.

"I honor the men I've fought with," he said. "In my years as a knight, I've watched many good men die. I try to remember them all, but I can't always. There've been too many." He placed the red rose gently on the flowers already in the middle of the circle. "And I honor my mother and father," he continued, his voice faltering a bit. "I'm only just now realizing how lucky I am to still have them." He added the white rose atop the red, then pushed himself to his feet and retreated to his place in the circle. Elyan thumped him on the back and Leon offered a weak smile in return.

Surprising himself, Gwaine stepped forward and knelt. "I honor my father," he murmured. There was so much more he could say: how little he remembered, how much that absence pained him, how desperately he hoped that somehow, his father knew what he'd become. That maybe he'd gotten a bit of a laugh about his son, a knight of Camelot. That maybe he'd made him proud.

Gwaine said none of this. Instead he laid his first rose atop Leon's. For a long time, nobody spoke. Then Gwaine coughed and continued, "and I honor the three of you. And Merlin. My friends." He placed his second rose across the first and stood, drawing a sleeve across his watering eyes.

Elyan took his place by the circle. "I honor my father as well," he said solemnly. "And my mother." He cleared his throat. "When she died, I ran. When my father died, it was only another reason to stay away. I hope they know I've come back, now, and I'm glad." He added his red rose to the growing pile. "And I honor Guinevere. I haven't been the best brother I could have been. But I love her with all I am." He laid the white rose down and got to his feet.

Slowly, all eyes turned to Percival. His own gaze held fast to the pile of roses as though enchanted. Gwaine took a step to the side, just close enough to lay a hand on his friend's arm; he was surprised and a bit alarmed to feel how violently the massive man was trembling. He wanted to tell him it was all right. He wanted to tell him that he didn't have to do this, not really. But Gwaine, for all his many faults, did not consider himself a liar.

Finally Percival stepped forward and went slowly down to one knee before the circle and its pile of flowers. Gwaine's now-empty hand clenched uneasily at his side. "I-" Percival began, stopping short when his voice broke. "I honor Lancelot's family. I hope- I _believe_ that they have been reunited with their son, and that they might all be at peace together, at last. Lancelot didn't speak of them often, but I know he- he missed them every moment. There's no end to a pain like that. It's good that they're together again."

Gwaine swallowed hard, watching the tears slide easily down Percival's face, knowing what was coming next with a dull ache in his stomach. "And I honor my family," Percival whispered, sinking down lower. He draped an arm over his raised knee, chin only inches above it. "I honor my mother, my father, Henry, Gabrielle... and Frederick. I know the pain that Lancelot felt. My heart... is broken," he sobbed.

Without consciously deciding to move, Gwaine was at his side in an instant, wrapping an arm around the man's broad shoulders. "I had eighteen years with you," Percival continued, his voice a shattered mess. "I know it's more than some get, but it'll never be enough. When Frederick died, I don't know why I honestly bothered to keep myself alive. You were everything I had. Everything I knew." He sniffed loudly, panting like a dog out of breath. Gwaine tightened his hold. "I don't know how I lasted until Lancelot found me. I don't know why I tried. But he understood. He taught me how to keep going on. Now he's gone as well, and I thought I couldn't hurt any worse than I did, but _I do_."

Tears were pouring down Gwaine's cheeks. He wasn't bothered at the thought of Leon or Elyan seeing; in truth he hardly remembered that they were still there. Percival was collapsed sideways against him now, unsteady on one knee. The sheer amount of weight he was giving to Gwaine made him sure that such decisions were beyond his friend's control by now. Gently, he pushed down on Percival's leg until the man rearranged himself with both knees on the ground. Satisfied that at least his friend was physically stabilized now, Gwaine wrapped both arms around Percival's shaking body, his chest pressed to the man's side, and held tight.

Percival had his hands in front of his face. He quaked and trembled, weeping violently but without commotion, his silence punctuated only rarely by strained sobs. Nobody else made a sound. Gwaine had no words of comfort, and Leon and Elyan seemed frozen, outside them.

Finally Percival gave a last massive shutter and lifted his head. His cheeks shone slickly, his eyes and nose stained the same uneven pink. Gwaine let go the rather desperate hold he'd taken on his friend. "I forgot my rose," Percival whispered, dumbly, and Gwaine bit back an hysterical laugh. Somberly, Percival retrieved the red flower from the ground where he'd dropped it at his side. It was small in his hand as he added it to the pile. "I'm sorry," he murmured.

"It's all right."

"No. I really am sorry." Now, finally, he made some real noise, gulping and sniffing loudly and messily as he mopped his face with the hem of his cloak. "It's not as though you haven't all lost those you care about. Sometimes I wonder why I'm the only one who can't stop mourning them."

"It's not a competition," Gwaine promised flatly, taking his arm again roughly. "And no, Percy, none of us can compare to what you've been through. We just can't."

Percival just nodded, sniffing again. One final tear slipped down his cheek, and with his free hand he wiped it away impatiently. He reached down to the ground again, and Gwaine hung on dumbly until he realized that the man still had one flower left. The white rose- to honor the living, and the future. Right. Gwaine wasn't feeling so enthusiastic about that bit just then, and he hardly though that Percival could be, either. Nevertheless, he let go, shuffling backwards from the circle before standing, shaky and weak. A hand clapped down on his back from either side of him, then stayed there to support him as he nearly lost his footing at Percival's next words.

"I honor Gwaine," Percival said quietly. "At first, when Lancelot died, I didn't think I could go through losing someone again. I thought I'd finally come up against the thing that would do me in. But I haven't, not yet. And he's been the one to show me that. So I honor him. And I honor the rest of you, and everyone else in Camelot who've given me hope." Calmly, Percival added the final rose to the circle, pushed himself to his feet, and stepped back to his place. He took the torch that Leon passed him, touched it to the pile, and handed it back.

The four knights stared at the burning flowers until nothing but ash remained. Gwaine was overcome by the childish urge to run his fingers through it, but resisted. Instead he took the sword that Leon passed him and, with one smooth blow, drove it swiftly through the ashes and deep into the ground. It gleamed in the rapidly fading sunlight.

"That's it, then," Elyan said at last. "That's the quest."

"Let's set up by those woods for the night," Leon replied simply.

It was too late for the lunch they'd missed and too early for dinner, but once camp was made Elyan passed around his venison and Gwaine his apples, and they ate in companionable silence. When the food was mostly gone, Percival drew a massive flask from his bag with a shaky smile.

Gwaine wasn't sure of the liquor inside it- it wasn't any of the usual suspects, maybe a regional thing- but it was strong, and that was what mattered. Gathered tight around the fire, they passed the flask between them until thoroughly warmed by the alcohol, the flames, and their own quiet company.

When he'd finally drunk enough to find his nerve, Gwaine shuffled quietly over to Percival and settled down well within arm's length. "Did you mean it?" he murmured, knowing that Percival would understand. What else could he be referring to?

"Of course."

"Oh. Damn." Gwaine found that all coherent words had fled from his mind. He'd never _meant_ so much to somebody before, at least not for a very long time. He wasn't entirely sure what to do about it- but he hardly minded. He wrapped one arm tightly around Percival's back, and in turn he felt one of Percival's wrap around his neck; they kept them there only briefly, but Gwaine was satisfied. He scooted away a few feet and lay down, pillowing his head on his arms and sighing.

The sun had only been down a few hours when Leon stood and stretched. "I'll take the first watch, I suppose. Can hold my drink better than the lot of you anyway. Gwaine," he added, a bit threateningly. "Don't think you're getting out of second."

But when Gwaine woke hours later, it was not to Leon's voice but to the feeling of rain running down his exposed skin. He lifted his head. The field around him was drenched, lit by the strange-but-familiar yellow-grey of a storm. The steady pounding of rain filled his ears and its crisp scent filled his nose. Icy water dripped down his hair, worked its way in between the links of his chainmail; he knew he should shiver from it, but instead the coldness brought with it the feeling of a fever finally breaking.

He was strangely awake, but still it all was somehow dreamlike. He pushed himself up to his knees. Percival, Leon, and Elyan were already up, propped against trees and logs, making no efforts to seek shelter from the weather. Gwaine climbed to his feet and put his head back, letting the water run over his face, feeling as though he could weep. He suspected somehow that the others might already be doing so, but it was impossible to tell.

He wasn't sure how long he stood, but when the light of the storm finally faded, the light of dawn followed seamlessly behind.

It was Leon who finally stirred, breaking the spell that had fallen over the camp. "If we leave now, we can make Camelot before nightfall," he said quietly, beginning to gather his pack. Wordlessly, Gwaine and the others did the same. Nobody mentioned breakfast or washing, still plenty wet from the rain and also somehow satisfied by it in a way that no food could imitate.

The ride back to Camelot was quiet and quick, with breaks only for bodily functions and the brief stretching of legs. The moon had only just risen in the sky when the gate of the citadel came into view. Arthur greeted them in the main square, flanked only by Merlin. He rose from his perch on the steps as the knights dismounted, relinquishing their horses to the attendants that swarmed in from the shadows.

Arthur shook hands with Leon, then Elyan and Percival, as Gwaine pulled the prince's servant into a tight, one-armed hug.

"Well?" Merlin prompted, clapping Gwaine on the back as they released each other.

"I think it went well."

"How do you feel?"

Gwaine thought for a moment before nodding. "Good," he promised, then amended: "great." He glanced back to the others; Leon was gesturing widely as Arthur listened, nodding; Percival and Elyan were laughing uproariously at something Gwaine failed to catch.

"My work here is done," he announced with satisfaction, turning back to Merlin. He grinned. "And I am _starving_. Tavern?"

Merlin sighed. "Been sitting out here keeping Arthur company for an hour and I've still got to do his laundry before tomorrow." He smirked. "So yeah, tavern sounds about right. They coming?"

In an instant, Gwaine's eyes scanned over Merlin's face; his smile was genuinely welcoming but his eyes were still tired and just the slightest bit shielded. Merlin, the man whose idea this had been, who hadn't gotten to go along. Merlin, whom Gwaine would still worry about, no matter what, until the day he died.

"You know, in the past three days, I have-" he held a hand up, ticking items off with his fingers- "quested with those men, drank with those men, cried in front of those men, and told those men about my bloodline." Merlin's eyes widened. Gwaine laughed. "I think I have earned a vacation from them," he decided, slinging an arm around Merlin's shoulders.


End file.
